


The price of hard work

by Wheel_of_fortune



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Jam, Money, and i hit you with it, obvious parallel with art is obvious, overall bitty should get paid for jam, this metaphor is a shovel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 17:11:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheel_of_fortune/pseuds/Wheel_of_fortune
Summary: Bits. Bitty. Eric Bittlemann, my tiny bro. Get the money. You worked hard and people just want to thrown money at you.





	The price of hard work

**Author's Note:**

> artists, get paid. writers, get paid. someone wants something, give them a price. time is money, your time and work and creativity are precious.

Lardo sighed. Immediately, Bitty set the ingredients on the counter and turned around, caretaker instincts on full alert.

‘Lardo? What is it?’

‘Humpf. I need to price my art, and it sucks,’ she mumbled, drawing a duckling on the margin of her list. ‘Needs to be done before the end of year expo, but honestly? I’d rather give the lot and don’t bother with money.’

‘Larissa Duan! You spent the entire semester on these! You can’t just give them away!’

‘… Yeah but I  _like_  making art.’

‘It’s still work! You should be paid for that effort! And all the money you spent on supplies- lord I can’t even imagine how much those gigantic canvases are. Weren’t you complaining about how expensive good paint is just the other day?’

‘Yeah, I guess so. So, you’re saying all good work deserves remuneration?’

‘Of course!’

‘So you should get paid for your jam.’

‘Wait what- no! Not me! This is completely different-’

‘Hm. I tried. Shits, your turn.’

At that same moment, Shitty enters the kitchen, dressed only in a pair of Falconers boxers and a black tshirt that belonged to Lardo, which fit him like a crop top. Bitty didn’t even know he was at Samwell that day. 

‘Eric Bitty Bittleman The Second, tiny bro of my heart, maker of the pies, we need to talk.’

‘If this is about the jam, I already told the Falcs I didn’t want to be paid-’

‘I’m here to talk to you about market pricing, my man. There are other people, out there, working their asses off to make delicious jam, and they love doing it as much as you do. But those bros, bro, are actually depending on it to pay the rent. What you’re doing, here, is depreciating the value of jam, and convincing fans of said jam that they can have an product of excellent quality- for FREE! This is bad for business, Bits, this can even come back and bite you in the ass when you open a bakery. You don’t want to hurt future you and your fellow bakers, don’t you?’

Bitty stays silent for a moment, mouth wide open.

‘I- I didn’t think of it like that! I was just, you know, in the zone, you know how I get? And then there was all this jam, and I know the team would make a good effort, but they couldn’t seriously eat it all? But, I didn’t know it actually had an impact on the economy?’

‘Well, now that they know where to find delicious jam and baked goods for free, do you think the Falcs, their families and the SMH are going to get it elsewhere?’

Bitty bit his lip and looked at his hands.

‘I just wanted to make them happy. I love feeding people.’

‘And you can! You still can! I’m not saying you can’t make gifts once in a while or bake for your friends, I’m just saying there’s a line at some point.’

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I know nothing about- about pricing! Lardo, how do you even manage with art?’

‘I use my resources, man,’ she said, snapping her fingers.

At that moment, Ransom and Holster barged into the kitchen, both carrying their laptops.

‘Boys? Were you all waiting in the hallway?’

‘No time for chitchat, Bits, time is money,’ says Holster, straddling a chair backwards in front of him. ‘We’re here to help.’

‘I got a spreadsheet here,’ says Ransom, sliding his laptop. ‘Compiling ingredient prices, electricity for the oven, mason jar prices, transport from Samwell to Providence and your work time, from the moment you went to buy those fruits until you closed your last mason jar.’

‘That- that is a lot of time.’

‘Wish I had that kind of concentration for studying law,’ grumbled Shitty.

‘It’s not all,’ continued Ransom. ‘This second sheet calculates the prices of similar products from spots around Samwell and Providence, from the Stop N’ Shop to the fancy little cafés and farmers market near Jack’s house.’

‘Wait, did Jack sent you those?’

‘Brah, Jack ASKED US to do this,’ said Holster with a roll of his eyes.

‘So, here are the prices of a single jam unit- counting the ingredients and the mason jar,’ said Ransom, before clicking on another Excel page, ‘and this is the price of each if one calculates the time worked, compared to what bakers and cooks make in those same cafés and suppliers.’

‘…I- I understand wanting to keep the market, and paying for the ingredients,’ hesitated Bitty, ‘but I’m still not sure I want to be  _paid_  to bake?’

‘I’m gonna give away  _every single one_  of my art pieces,’ said Lardo, doodling more ducklings. 

‘… Alright, alright, I think I get it. I’ll just put the money in the Haus funds, since I took pretty much all of it to pay for the ingredients.’

‘You put back what you took and you keep the rest,’ said Shitty. ‘Do you really want to graduate without a cent in the bank and live off of Jack’s salary?’

‘What? No! Of course not!’

‘So start making dough, my boy. That future bakery won’t finance itself, you know.’

‘Also, people respect a product if they have to pay a reasonable price for it,’ commented Holster. ‘You don’t want to ruin your reputation from the get go. Honestly I’d suggest asking for more, since it’s also fucking delicious and a secret family recipe and organic shit people are crazy about, but we’ll work our way up there over the years.’

‘Here, I got the price per unit, what everyone bought listed hockey team, then alphabetically, the total, subtracting what was borrowed to the Sin Bin fund- that makes-’

‘GOOD LORD THAT’S MORE THAN FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS.’

‘Well, it WAS a shit ton of jam,’ shrugged Lardo.

‘And hard work, too,’ added Shitty. ‘So, do you accept?’

‘Well, I guess? Y’all make a lot of good points…’

‘Sweet,’ said Lardo, sending a text.

A moment later, Bitty’s cell phone vibrated with a message. His bank application signalled that someone transferred him funds- 

‘How did Jack know exactly how much to send???’

‘Told ya, Bits, it was all his idea,’ said Shitty. ‘And the Falcs have been giving him money, even hiding it in the pockets of his hockey bag, to pay for their stuff. He just wanted to make sure you were on board with it.’

Bitty didn’t know what to feel about all this, he was still insecure about pricing his jam - and his pies, cookies, muffins and other pastries, if one was to believe Ransom’s other Excel spread sheet- but the reality was that he was now five thousand dollars closer to open his own bakery, someday.


End file.
